


All for Naut

by thewritingrider



Series: There and Back Again [4]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Almost-Smut, Banter, Constantin is a sweet cinnamon roll, De Sardet is a horny drunk, Drinking, F/M, I'm De Sardet, IT'S ME, Tavern Songs, but he's also a shithead, seriously just missing like two keywords, the gang's all here, too good for this world, un-tasteful fade to black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingrider/pseuds/thewritingrider
Summary: As much as Vasco hates to admit it, Constantin and Kurt know De Sardet better than he does. He aims to rectify this.
Relationships: De Sardet/Vasco (GreedFall)
Series: There and Back Again [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600456
Comments: 2
Kudos: 72





	All for Naut

It isn’t often that De Sardet and her motley crew have any free time. There is always one crisis or another going down these days - from the failed coup to Siora’s mother to traipsing all over the whole goddamn island - and Vasco fully intends to enjoy his first leisurely evening in weeks to its fullest. And that means posting up in the nearest Coin Tavern. 

All six of them are gathered ‘round the card table in New Sérѐne, plus Constantin. His illness has not taken him so completely yet that he cannot venture outdoors nor partake in some merriment, even if his once-wide smiles are far more wan than they used to be, and the bags under his eyes rather like bruises. De Sardet sits at his side, flicking him glances every thirty seconds, but the young Governor puts on a good performance. He laughs and goads the others with all the famed gusto Kurt and she had told him of. 

Siora is losing her hand spectacularly, and there is a veritable mountain of empty tankards stacking up on the table next to them. “I simply do not understand this game,” the _doneigad_ huffs, scowling as Petrus pulls her lost money on to his own pile. The holy man is far better at gambling than he ought to be, Vasco thinks. “How do you know when your hand is passable?”

“It’s _poker,_ Siora,” Vasco tells her. He is reclining in his chair, hands laced behind his head and ankle crossed over his knee. The ale has him loose and content, a lazy smile spread across his face. It feels _good_. “It doesn’t matter if your hand is good or not.”

“Then what is the point?”

“To see who can lie the best.” Constantin is himself an excellent player, and had taken most of his cousin’s money over the course of the evening. “I think it is simply adorable that you’re so guileless, sweetling.”

“You giant flirt,” De Sardet mutters next to him. The Governor’s grin is mocking, and he waggles his eyebrows at the islander. Siora looks entirely perplexed. “Leave her alone. She’s out of your league.”

Kurt snorts. Vasco narrows his eyes at the other captain; he still hasn’t forgiven him for keeping his mouth shut about the coup two and a half weeks ago, even if De Sardet has. Vasco likes to hold grudges, and he’ll not soon forget the white fury on De Sardet’s face. “If anyone has gone below their station, it’s you.”

Vasco glares. Kurt resolutely ignores him. Apparently the feeling is mutual; threatening someone with a gun will do that, he supposes. 

Sylvania rolls her eyes, grinning widely. Her cousin snickers. “She always liked the sailors.”

“It’s the tattoos,” Vasco chimes in. “She isn’t the first.”

“Well, excuse me for having a type,” she sniffs, tossing her hand down. She’s _terrible,_ for being such an excellent liar in her day-to-day life. “It’s not my fault they are all so handsome and swarthy.”

“Swarthy!” Vasco laughs, warmth suffusing his languid muscles. “Look at you and your highborn words. You’ll have to dumb it down for me, your Excellency.” He leans forward, bracing himself on a forearm as he stares her down, shit-eating smirk firmly in place. “Just what precisely is so great about us Nauts?”

“Their shoulders, their tattoos, their hats,” Constantin begins to tick things off on his fingers, like he has heard them ten thousand times before. “Their coats, their voices, their hair --”

“Stop it,” the Legate hisses, coloring a pretty shade of pink. “Like you haven’t gone moony-eyed over some sailor girl before.”

“Maybe so, but _I_ never shagged one in a closet, either.”

Vasco chokes on his ale. Aphra slaps him on the back, chuckling merrily. 

“ _Constantin!_ ” She sounds mortified. Sylvania drops her head into her hands, and Kurt scowls at him. Vasco scowls back; it’s not his fault all the guest rooms had been taken. Aphra’s smile is slowly getting wider. “Lower your voice!”

“So, Captain Vasco!” The young Governor continues loudly, completely disregarding his cousin. “You know what my fair cousin likes about the Nauts. Tell me,” he takes a long swig of his beer, “Have you ever knocked about in a broom closet with a noble before? Besides dear Sylvie, of course.”

The stare De Sardet is shooting at him from across the table is daring him to answer. He takes it gladly, shameless. “No, can’t say I have. If I had a type, nobles certainly wouldn’t be part of it.”

“Why her, then?”

“Yes, please enlighten us,” Kurt mutters to himself. Vasco ignores him. 

In truth, it is a very long answer. Not one he cares to share while half-drunk in a crowded bar. She is unfailingly kind, thoughtful in all she does; she’d been nothing short of aghast when he’d been laid off, offering to have some words with the Admiral on his behalf, and throwing herself in the path of a _Nádaig glendemen_ simply because he asked her to. She likes bawdy jokes and terrible puns, snorting in a very unlady-like fashion at Dieter’s thinly-veiled innuendo. She is smart, confident, and devastatingly beautiful. Most of the pampered aristocrat boys she spends her days dealing with would gladly kill to be in his own position, he knows. 

But he doesn’t say any of this. It is not for them. Instead, he grins, nudging her foot with his own underneath the table, and says, “Well, she does this thing with her hands --”

“Alright, that’s quite enough,” Petrus interrupts, and Vasco snickers. De Sardet hides her mouth behind her hand to stifle her own chuckles, and her blue eyes are tender when they settle on him. She likes to be teased; he is endlessly glad of this, that laughter is her preferred form of bonding. He knows good and well he would never have been able to put on a flowery show for her. “We don’t need any precise details, you know.”

“Speak for yourself!” Aphra is a rowdy drunk, which never fails to amuse him. She slams her palms down on the table and knocks into his shoulder. Siora has to steady him from the force of it. “I want to know everything. Do they go all the way down?”

“Do what go all the way down?”

“His tattoos!” 

It’s Vasco’s turn to blush, and he isn’t nearly so good at hiding it as she is. Sylvania cackles, a wicked glint in her eye, and Constantin stares at him in curiosity. “But of course. Why do you think I keep him around?” Her foot slides up his calf.

It’s a bald-faced _lie,_ but damn if he doesn’t almost believe her himself. They only go so far as his chest; he is still young, after all. Kurt groans when Aphra hoots, and Vasco catches Siora’s inquisitive look out of the corner of his eye. He smirks at her, and she turns away, furiously red. “Let’s seem ‘em, then!”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Sylvania purrs. Their card game is all but forgotten. “They are for my perusal and mine alone.”

“I’d argue they’re for me,” Vasco answers in rebuttal. “But by all means,” he spreads his arms, leaning back in his chair. “ _Peruse_ away.”

“You two are disgusting,” Kurt says. “Who let this happen?”

“You did. You’re her bodyguard.” Constantin’s pretty face is smug, and Vasco chomps on the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out in loud guffaws. “You have been the one out in the wilderness with her all this time, you know.”

“And it sounds like he should have been here with you,” Sylvania snips, crossing her arms over her chest with a wicked smile. “If the tales told by the kitchen girls are anything to go by.”

Kurt groans. “ _Again_ with the maids, Constantin!”

“What?” The young Governor sticks his nose in the air, the petulance in his voice so thick Vasco has to believe he is faking it, “It’s not my fault I have such chiseled features. Simply irresistible.” 

“You are a proper menace,” Sylvania tells him, her gaze fond. “You should get yourself your own sailor. Vasco! Is Flavia seeing anyone?”

“He can’t have anyone from my crew. I’d like to be able to respect them.”

“Oh my, how hurtful,” Constantin drawls, lazy grin curling across his face. He has drank a truly staggering amount of beer, and Vasco is impressed the man is still conscious, much less lucid. “I wonder if all you Nauts are so sharp-tongued. No wonder Sylvie likes you all so much!” He slings an arm around his not-cousin’s shoulders, nearly yanking her right out of her own chair as he tugs her toward him. “She so rarely had a decent sparring partner back home; except for myself, of course. She’d spend all her days down at the docks --”

“Constantin--”

“Now now, don’t be shy, my dear!” He tucks her to his side and pins Vasco with a wide grin. “I know you so _love_ to go _several rounds_ \--”

“You are utterly vile, you ridiculous man!” Sylvania wrestles free of her cousin’s grip, nearly toppling into Petrus’s lap when she finally breaks away. “Let’s talk about you, then, since you seem so keen on my exploits! Did you know,” and she whirls in her chair, gesturing broadly with her hands, “That our dear Governor once paid not one, not two, but _three wenches_ to serve him and only him during _my_ birthday?” She herself is not nearly sober, the color high in her cheeks and her eyes bright. Vasco smirks; he’s encountered on more than one occasion just what sort of drunk she is, and it always ends up very well for him, indeed. “You had the whole tavern waiting on you hand and foot, and it was my coming of age party!”

“The only one that mattered, you mean,” Constantin shoots back. Kurt suddenly shoves himself away from the table, presumably to order another round, but when he slips an abnormally large coin purse to the tavern-keeper and turns away with no more beer, Vasco clenches his jaw. He wouldn’t put it past the man to try and slip De Sardet and her cousin a bit of ‘seasoned’ ale; he’ll have to keep her from drinking the rest of the night. “That whole dreadful affair that Father put on was simply ghastly.” 

“Yes, the one that mattered,” De Sardet huffs, crossing her arms. Vasco watches as the barkeep approaches a trio of men in the corner, and he stiffens in his chair. “You properly ruined it. I didn’t get nearly a single drink all night.”

“I wanted to give your suitors ample opportunity to impress you!”

“What, by buying me a stale beer or sour whiskey?”

Kurt rejoins them, falling back into his chair with a grunt. Vasco glowers at him from beneath the brim of his tricorn. “Yes! We all know the truest form of love is drunkenness and tavern songs!” And to prove his point, Constantin belts out a truly terrible rendition of the dirtiest ballad Vasco thinks he has ever heard. It is almost enough to make him blush.

Sylvania and Siora are red as cherries and Aphra howls with laughter, and then --

A tune starts to play. 

Vasco looks sharply over at the corner he had watched the three men rise from, and finds them standing there still, a proper fiddle, flute, and harmonica in each of their hands. A lively jig erupts throughout the entire tavern from the trio, and in the short span of several seconds, the whole place is in a rowdy uproar. 

When Vasco looks back at his companions, he finds Sylvania and Constantin staring straight at each other in joyful surprise, and Kurt with his chin tucked to his chest, a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. 

Well. Maybe he shouldn’t be so cynical. 

In a flash, Constantin is up and out of his chair, pulling an unsteady De Sardet up with him. “Dance with me!” he cries. “Oh, but I haven’t heard this tune in… in --”

“ _Years!_ ” De Sardet’s laugh is high and clear, and Vasco feels something in his chest clench at the tinkling sound. “Since that party! I don’t think I know the steps --”

“Nonsense, it matters not! _Dance_ with me, cousin!” And with that, he yanks her to the makeshift dance floor that has suddenly appeared. Tables and chairs are shoved aside as people begin to flood forward, laughing raucously, and then nearly the entire bar has struck up an energetic, bouncing jive.

The dance is clearly some form of traditional thing, as all the participants seem to know the exact steps and timing to it, and Vasco watches as Constantin and Sylvania whirl together at the heart of crowd, arm-in-arm and twirling on sure feet that should not be so steady with the amount of alcohol they have both consumed. The tune is unfamiliar to him, rising and falling in unpredictable patterns, but it is undoubtedly meant to spur happiness; soon, everyone still seated is stomping their feet or clapping to the beat, and when Vasco looks over at Siora, he finds her wriggling excitedly in her chair, eyes wide and twinkling. 

Kurt must see the confusion on the rest of their faces, because he shouts above the noise, “It is a well-known dance among the youngsters of Sérѐne.” He jerks a thumb over at Sylvania and Constantin, who have suddenly switched partners, along with everyone else participating. “One of those group capers; everyone knows it.”

“Even you?” Siora looks a bit too excited at the prospect. “You can do the ritual?” 

But before Vasco can properly jump at the chance to make Kurt horrifically uncomfortable, another lad suddenly appears at their table and pulls Siora to her feet. “I’ll show you!” he tells her merrily, and she follows him with a cry of excitement to the dance floor. She picks it up quickly, and soon, she is giggling with the rest of them. 

De Sardet abruptly materializes back at their table, flushed and happy. Her black hair is free, falling down her back and over her face, the ties of her loose shirt coming undone and her feet bare beneath her fluttering skirts; she is _striking_. Vasco deeply regrets not knowing the song. 

But she doesn’t come for him. Instead, her hands fall to Kurt’s arm. “Come,” she beckons, tugging gently. “Dance with me, Kurt.”

Vasco relishes the somewhat-uneasy glance the Coin Guard throws at him. He grins sharply, cocking a brow. “Erm, my Lady --”

“Oh, you stop that. _Dance,_ Kurt, you are always so tense. Please?”

“Ask your sailor.”

“Vasco doesn’t dance.”

And just like that, a memory slams into him so sharply he gasps. A night so very similar to this one, aboard his ship, under the stars and the deck lit with lanterns and magic --

_Jonas plays his fiddle well, tapping his foot and swaying with the time of Vestor’s ukelele and Lauro’s drum. Vasco watches the festivities from his seat on a nearby crate, the only one of his crew -- and their guests, he suspects -- perfectly sober._

_Sir de Courcillon and the gruff Coin Guard watch the merriment from afar as well, the former sipping delicately at a goblet of wine and the latter straight from the bottle._

_They are about midway through their journey to the island of Teer Fradee, and as happens so often on long voyages, boredom has taken hold of many of his crew-members. The young lads and lasses, particularly, are in dire need of some manner of entertainment, and tonight it takes the form of a live concert._

_The song is a popular sea shanty, simple and earnest, and the steps relatively straight-forward. Vasco watches the two young nobles - the Prince’s son and niece, if he is remembering correctly - as they follow their instructor’s directions. It does not take long for them to pick up the steps, and soon they are both participating with undisguised enthusiasm in the traditional sailor’s line dance. The gentle sway of the Sea-Horse doesn’t seem to hinder them in the slightest._

_Vasco watches, crossing his arms, trying not to grind his teeth. He is certainly not looking forward to having to clean the deck of all the spilled casks and stray bottles, but then, no one but him ever seems to think of these things ahead of time. He would vastly prefer they all find their amusement somewhere easier to look after. Like in their own quarters._

_“You are certainly severe tonight, Captain.”_

_Vasco looks up into the angular face of Lady De Sardet. She, in particular, exasperates him to no end. She is far, far too friendly to not want something from him, and he has dealt with enough Lords and Ladies in his time as a Naut to know there is always some snaking sort of ulterior motive. That, and she is just his kind of pretty. It’s_ annoying. _“Your face might get stuck that way if you frown any harder.”_

_“Good; then I might frighten some of my men into getting actual work done.”_

_She laughs, a chiming sound; he notices she has dimples. He has also noticed drawing such a reaction isn’t exactly hard to do, and he has no idea what to make of it. “Come now. You’ll get wrinkles before your thirtieth year, and you are far too handsome for such a tragedy.”_

_“Did you need something?” he snaps. He cannot, for the life of him, figure out what she hopes to gain from such flirtation, and it galls him to no end._

_“Yes,” she answers with an easy smile, and holds a slim, gloved hand out to him. “I wanted to ask you to dance with me.”_

_Vasco stares at her as if she has sprouted a second head. “I don’t dance, your Excellency.”_

When Vasco comes back to himself, he finds Sylvania has successfully persuaded Kurt into participating, and the guard Captain is twirling her about with ease and a rare smile. It is just he and Petrus left at the table, and the older man is watching the crowd with a fond countenance and gentle gaze. 

Vasco swallows. He has never wished so desperately to kick his own arse before; except, perhaps, when he’d snapped at her she was just like all the other nobles he had met in his life, for her simple audacity to _joke_ with him. He’ll never forget the startled look on her face at his boorish tone. 

He doesn’t have to watch her enjoy herself without him for long. The jig ends, much to the collective chagrin of the gathered dancers; their complaints seem to be heard loud and clear, for soon after, another tune strikes up. Sylvania and Kurt slink back to the table, but the others stay. Constantin and Siora, in particular, seem to be very popular, and both continue to bandy about with a variety of partners. 

De Sardet settles into Siora’s vacated chair beside him with a contented sigh, scooting it close enough to rest her head on his shoulder. “I love to dance,” she breathes out happily, before lifting herself from his person to arch her back and stretch. “It’s been simply _ages_ since we’ve had the time.”

“And it is well-deserved, my child,” Petrus rumbles. “You push yourself far too hard these days.”

No one says what for. None of them need reminding. 

De Sardet’s easy smile does not falter, but Vasco sees the way a vein jumps in her neck. He trails his fingers down her skin in an attempt to distract her from such thoughts, and as far as he can tell, it works. She twists in her seat toward him, color high from exertion and errant flyaways stuck to her skin from sweat. Her blue eyes are wide and dark, and she leans forward to drape her arms about his shoulders and kiss his tattooed cheek. 

She steals his hat on her withdrawal, placing it on her own head, and Vasco decides now is as good as any a time to make a break for it. 

He grabs her hand and tugs her back to her feet. “I trust you’ll see our Governor back to his rooms in one piece?” he asks of no one in particular, and when Petrus nods with a sharp smile, Kurt waving him off, he supposes that is good enough. The poor lad could use a night to forget. 

Vasco helps De Sardet find her shoes; he has no idea how she has managed to perform for her dance partners so admirably, because the woman is utterly _pissed._ She clutches at his sleeve with loud giggles, tripping over her simple skirts as she struggles to shove her feet back into her boots. If he wasn’t so ready to show her just how much he does like to dance, he’d find it irritating. 

When she is finally done, he tugs her by the hand out of the front doors of the tavern and down the darkened streets of New Sérѐne. He has every intention of going all the way back to her townhouse. Really. He does. 

Sylvania has other ideas.

They don’t make it two blocks before she is yanking him to a stop in the shadows of a trader’s store, her grip suddenly vice-like around his own. Vasco nearly stumbles, and then she is in his space, pushing him just barely off the main street and into the side of the building. She still has his hat. 

“Do you know,” she murmurs to him, slim hands sliding under his white tunic as her mouth presses against his neck, “Just how painfully handsome you are?”

“So I’ve been told,” he grunts, and his fingers sink into the flesh at her hips. Her breath hitches, teeth nipping at his pulse, and he spins them both until she is the one pinned to the wall of the shop. She looks up at him through her lashes, beneath the brim of his tricorn, and Vasco nearly catches his breath. 

He throws the hat to the ground when he kisses her. Sylvania gasps into his mouth, opening readily beneath him and grappling at his shoulders; she is so _easy_ to please when she is tipsy. He tangles his fingers in her loose hair at the nape of her neck, holding her in place while his other hand slides down her back and presses her against him. She groans, hands clutching at him for purchase, stroking her tongue against his own and sweeping across the roof of his mouth. 

He traps her against the stone store with the press of his hips, squeezing at her ass and pulling a thigh up to hook around his hip. She comes willingly, rolling against him, mouth hot and eager and _wet,_ and he is nearly dizzy from the taste of her. 

Vasco breaks away with a gasp, desperate for air, and Sylvania dips forward against the pull of the hand in her hair to nibble at his ear. He hisses a warning, heat shooting down his spine and pooling in his gut, and she laughs, low and throaty.

“For the record,” he croaks after he kisses her again, desperate and maybe a bit sloppy, “I’ll dance with you whenever you like.”

Sylvania’s chuckle _does_ things to him. “Hm? Oh, I think I managed to figure that one out myself.” She nips at his bottom lip, one of her hands shooting low between them to palm at him through his breeches. Vasco curses, bracing himself on the wall with one of his hands, and she laughs once more. 

“You’re a damn tease, De Sardet.”

“You like it.”

His mouth on hers is forceful, prying open her smiling lips with a low moan and sharp thrust against her hand. “One of these days,” he pants, “I won’t fall for it, and then what will you do?”

“What you mean to say,” she says with a sharp grin, throwing her head back when he starts to ruck up her skirts there and then in the alley, “Is that my efforts will be ‘ _all for Naut?_ ’”

Vasco’s groan has very little to do with her warm hands under his shirt or her legs wrapping around his waist. “Awful. Plainly awful.”

“You like it,” she says again, sucking a hickey into the junction of his shoulder and neck. His head falls forward to brace against her own, even as she fumbles with the laces of his pants. “Just admit it.”

He doesn’t. He simply kisses her, and they speak no more.

**Author's Note:**

> The first song I envision to be something like Lindsey Stirling's "Roundtable Rival," and the second one, during Vasco's flashback, to the tune of "Nancy Mulligan" by Ed Sheeran. In case anyone was curious.


End file.
